


Point of Origin

by Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)



Series: Remember [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Amnesia, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Jonasfic, Language, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-02
Updated: 2008-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylielee1000/pseuds/Kylie%20Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe I'm someone new," Daniel said. "Would that be okay? If I wasn't Daniel Jackson but somebody new?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Origin

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 7.01 "Fallen," 7.02 "Homecoming," _Stargate SG-1_ (the movie)
> 
> Beta: TheGrrrl and Sarah
> 
> Originally posted August 29, 2003.

"How's it going?" I asked.

"Okay," Jonas said absently. "Almost there."

He was concentrating deeply, his face slightly frowning. I'd been watching him all day. Every time I saw him, I was more aware of my heart beating. I felt almost as if I were blushing every time he looked at me, but apparently I wasn't, because he hadn't said anything. His black T-shirt was a little too small, and it hugged his body, emphasizing his musculature. I was nervous around him, as if I were a teenager hanging around someone I had a crush on.

We were composing a new translation for the false tablet we were going to plant on the planet's surface. We'd been at it for hours in Jonas's—my—office. We'd started with the real tablet and gone from there. I wasn't sure what time it was. It had been just the two of us for a few hours at least, so probably it was late and everyone else had left for the day. We'd been awkward at first, because of what had happened between us last night and because of what had happened in my room earlier today, but once we got to work, everything went fine. I was pleased that we worked well together. I had discovered that it was hard to find someone whose mind tracked the way mine did. Jack O'Neill, for instance—I didn't understand his mind at all, and he didn't seem to want to bother with complex ideas. He liked things simple. He was a man of action. So was Teal'c. Samantha Carter was a brilliant scientist, but her mind worked linearly.

I liked the way Jonas's mind worked. He could think sideways, and he was able to put things together. He had an incredible memory. He could look at a page, and even if he couldn't memorize it eidetically (I wasn't sure and didn't want to ask), he could remember most of the information and could find it later if he wanted. He remembered whether it was verso or recto, he remembered whether it was illustrated, he remembered how far down it was on the page, and he remembered color. It was really impressive. But despite this, he deferred to me. He was impressed by my knowledge and by the fact that somehow, I had come back from wherever I was before with the knowledge of how to read a language no one else could. I liked the way he deferred to me, and it was freeing to fence with an intellectual equal.

I grabbed our informal dictionary of Ancient, which we were sharing, and paged through, scanning the terms. "Destroyer," I muttered, and I found a glyph that fit. I copied it onto the yellow lined paper I was using.

"Over here," Jonas said, and I tossed him the dictionary. He caught it in midair. We both turned away and bent over our desks again.

He'd come to my room earlier today. We'd talked, and just as he was about to leave, I said, "Wait. Don't go. I was just wondering—about the time—you and me—I'm trying to say—" I seemed unable to speak in full sentences.

"What, Daniel?" Jonas said, but he stepped away from the door. He looked politely interested.

I exhaled through pursed lips as I studied the floor. "What happened between us—before. I want to talk about that."

"Oh," Jonas said. "I shouldn't have—in retrospect, it was probably—I mean—" He put a hand up and ruffled his hair. He seemed anxious.

"No, no, no, no, no," I interrupted, happy to see that he couldn't finish his sentences either. "I'm glad we did. I'm really, really glad we did." I couldn't figure out how to gracefully ask if we could do it again.

Jonas looked nervous. "I just think—because of your memory—we have to work together, and I think we should just keep it professional from now on."

"Oh," I said, a horrible, sinking feeling in my stomach. "That's—if you think—"

"Daniel, your memory is starting to come back. I don't want you to think I regret what we did. I'm trying to protect us both."

"It's just bits and pieces. It's nothing coherent," I said, shaking my head impatiently. I'd been eager for my memory to return, and now, because Jonas seemed concerned, I found myself wishing it wouldn't. "Jonas, for me it was really—profound."

Jonas's voice was quiet. "It was for me too."

"It was my first time. I mean, it felt like my first time."

Jonas put his hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I don't want to hurt you. Which is why I should go."

"Is it because of that someone else?"

"What someone else?"

"You said that I wanted to be with someone else—someone I don't remember."

"Yes, that too, actually," Jonas said.

"Who is it? Who is this person you think I want to be with?"

Jonas just shook his head, and I knew he wasn't going to tell me.

"Jonas, right now, I want to be with you," I said as he turned the doorknob.

"I'm sorry, Daniel." I couldn't read his eyes. The door sounded loud when it shut.

"Argh!" I cried. I kicked a chair, then dropped into it. "Oh, smooth, Daniel Jackson, really smooth. Convince him with your inability to form complete sentences." And what had I been thinking, saying that thing about being a virgin? That would scare anybody off in a second. I had said all the wrong things.

I had said all the wrong things, but when we met to begin composing the wording for the false tablet, his T-shirt was too small, and he smiled at me. I was getting mixed messages. I thought he liked me. I know I liked him. We'd shared something together that I thought was mutually important. I'd used the word "profound," and I meant it.

I hesitated, twiddling my pen. Maybe we hadn't shared something profound. Maybe I had felt it, but Jonas hadn't. It hadn't occurred to me that maybe he hadn't felt the same thing. Affection, lust—certainly he felt those things. But I didn't know whether I'd shattered him the way he'd shattered me. He'd touched me so deeply that he had gotten caught up in me. I had felt it. I closed my eyes, and in my mind, I relived what I'd felt as I'd stared into Jonas's brown eyes.

I wanted to do that again. I really, really wanted to do that again. With Jonas.

"Hell," I muttered, tossing the pen onto the yellow tablet.

"What?" Jonas asked.

"Nothing. Are you done?"

"Just about. What about this character?" He waved me over.

I scanned his work quickly. "Good, good. But wait. Inflect it differently. Like so." I took his pen and wrote on top of his glyphs.

"Nice," Jonas said appreciatively. I'd just changed the meaning subtly to imply a sinister warning. Anubis and his minions would eat it up. "Wait. That change puts these out of grammatical order. Hold on. Can I have that back?" I extended the pen, and he began scribbling, deep in concentration.

The man was brilliant. That was all there was to it. He caught on incredibly fast. He was able to grasp fine nuance. And right now, he was immersed, his hand barely able to keep up with his mind as he scratched out glyphs and began reordering them. I was only inches away from him. I'd spent the entire time barely working, unable to focus, conscious of Jonas because he was in the same room.

"Here, use this," I murmured, reaching across his line of sight and pulling a thick pen from a cup. I'd discovered this kind of pen earlier. It was called a Sharpie.

"Thanks, Daniel," Jonas said, uncapping it and releasing its sharp smell. "I think I'm onto something here. Just a second."

Bold, thick strokes now overlapped the fine blue of the ball point he'd been using. I watched his hands for a moment or two. Then my eyes traveled to his profile. I remembered touching his face, kissing him, and suddenly I was electrically aware of the warmth of his body next to mine. I was standing right behind him, my hand on the back of his chair, and I could feel his shoulder blade move as he wrote. I had an urge to slide my hand down the back of that tight black T-shirt, to cup his shoulder blade so I could feel the muscles in it flex and bend. I wanted to caress his back.

The chair shifted as Jonas threw the pen down and sat back. "Got it," he said with satisfaction. "Check it out."

I crouched next to his chair, my arm still across the back of it. He'd written in cursive over the glyphs so he could write faster. The writing made no sense at all to me. The thin, light blue lines had been overrun by slashes of black. I couldn't concentrate. I was too aware of the man next to me. I looked at the writing, then up at Jonas. He was smiling in triumph. I smiled back, and his dimples deepened.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think it's great," I said. "I think you're brilliant." My eyes held his. When I touched the back of his neck, he didn't move away. Awkwardly, not breaking eye contact, because I didn't want the moment to end, I knelt next to him.

"Daniel," he whispered.

"Jonas," I whispered back.

"Don't," he said.

"I want it too much," I said. I leaned forward and kissed him. "Please. I want you too much. Shhh." I kissed him again.

He made a little noise, and I felt his fingers wind into my hair. I had to lean up to reach his mouth. He pulled my hair gently, and I remembered going down on him. He'd wrapped his fingers in my hair then too. He'd used his hands to tell me what felt good. When he'd come, he'd breathed raggedly, and the out-of-control exhalations that spoke of the depth of his pleasure had sent a pang through my heart, because I could do that to him.

And now—now I made him press into me. I made him open his mouth. I knelt at his feet and wrapped my arms around him and told him how much I wanted him, and just as I made him respond, he made me respond. He explored my mouth with his tongue, and I licked his lips, his teeth, before finding his tongue again. We kissed hard. He had no regard for my glasses; he bumped them askew. I grabbed them before they could fall off and held them in one hand. I felt myself grow hard, and I felt hot all over, because he was so near.

Just before I wouldn't be able to stop, I sat back. Jonas was just slightly out of focus. His mouth looked wet and bruised. He touched my mouth, and I knew he was remembering too. "Oh, god," he said. If he spoke when he came, I imagined he would sound just like that. "Daniel."

"Please, Jonas," I said. "I want you. Please come to me tonight." Jonas shook his head, but I interrupted before he could say anything. "I know I don't remember. I know it's not fair to ask you when everything could change when—if I get my memory back. I know I could hurt you. I know I'm being incredibly selfish. But we have a week before the mission. I want to spend it with you."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Jonas said. "It's you."

"I'm all grown up. I can handle whatever the consequences turn out to be." I put my glasses on and struggled to my feet, back in the real world, no longer in the world where touch meant everything. "We're each worrying for the other. We're worrying about some—some future pain that may or may not come to be. All I know is, you broke me apart and put me back together. All I know is, I want you in my bed." I crossed to the door. "Come to me tonight, Jonas," I repeated. "I'll wait for you tonight. I'll wait for you every night."

I didn't look behind me as I left.

## ***

  
I went straight home, a little shaky from my bold invitation and my dramatic exit. I said hello the soldiers in the hallway and then shut the door behind me. I had no idea whether Jonas would come or not. I knew that he had responded to me, to my body. But I didn't know whether he would respond to my arguments. I'd said all the things I thought I had to say. It seemed like a small consolation if I couldn't convince him. At least I wouldn't have any regrets.

I couldn't sit still. I kept hoping he would knock. I tried to file the books that were strewn around the room, but I gave up when I realized that I hadn't noticed that some were upside-down. It wasn't as late as I had feared. It was only about ten at night. When about fifteen minutes had passed, I became convinced he wasn't coming. I had to use the bathroom but didn't want to miss his knock in case he showed up after all. I agonized about that for five minutes before dashing into the bathroom and making it as quick as I could. I left the door to the bathroom open so I could hear a knock.

A half hour.

Nothing.

An hour.

Nothing.

An hour and a half.

I'd been turned down.

I changed into my pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt and was brushing my teeth when I heard the a knock. I didn't bother to take the toothbrush out of my mouth as I leapt across the room and opened the door.

It was Jonas. He was holding two grease-stained white paper bags.

"Hi," he said. He smiled at me.

"Um, hi," I said around the foam.

"Can I come in?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Please."

"I brought some deep-fried goodness," Jonas said. "Sorry it took a while. I had to go out to get it. I thought you might be hungry. I think we skipped dinner."

I realized I was hungry. "Why don't you—I'll just—" I waved at the bathroom door. I could hear the water in the sink running.

"I'll set it out," he said, placing the bags on the edge of the desk.

I quickly finished up in the bathroom. I left the door a little ajar and could hear him puttering around. Then I stood and watched him as he unpacked fried shrimp and fish and french fries, various sauces, plastic forks, and a handful of white paper napkins. The food came in jaunty little paper boats. He had soda in cans.

"It looks great," I said sincerely. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Jonas said. "Will it taste okay with your toothpaste?"

"Absolutely," I said. "We'd better eat on the bed. There's no room at the table."

Jonas smashed one of the paper bags flat, stuck it on the bed, and put the sauces on it. We didn't bother with the forks but ate with our fingers. We sat cross-legged on either side of the bag, both in our sock feet, and talked about the false tablet, translations, and the antics of one particularly clueless soldier. We made up wording for an alternative tablet that had us in stitches: it was all bad puns and double entendres. It was the best meal I could remember having.

I was stuffing the trash into the other paper bag when Jonas said, "A week."

My heart raced at the implication of this comment, but I tried to play it cool. "It's a start," I said. I put the bag in the trash and sat on the bed across from him. I felt nervous.

"If you remember, it's okay," Jonas said. "All bets are off if you remember. I understand." Suddenly, he seemed nervous too.

I tapped one of his legs and he extended it. I slipped his sock off and caressed his foot. "Did it ever occur to you that I could remember, and that I could still want to be with you?" I asked conversationally.

"Yes," Jonas said. "Yes, it has occurred to me."

"But you think that instead, I'll go off with whoever else."

"Yes."

"And break your heart."

"Yes."

I slid my hand up his leg. I could feel his muscles through the fabric of his fatigues. "I'd be an idiot if so," I said matter-of-factly. "We have a lot in common. Who else could make such bad puns in Ancient? It takes a specialist to have that kind of sense of humor."

"True," Jonas said. He smiled at me as I kept stroking. I touched his other ankle. I took off that sock too and began on the other side. "I think for now, I'm all about living in the moment. Just like you." He was alluding to my lack of memory. He leaned back on both arms as I ran my hands along his legs. "For a week."

"For a week," I echoed. The mission was at the end of the week. We might not survive, but we weren't saying that. We were all being optimistic. I put my hands on his hips. I wasn't nervous anymore. I'd been worried about segueing into lovemaking, but he'd made it easy by submitting to my petting. Now I knew that he'd worn his tight black T-shirt on purpose, because of the way it made him look.

"Daniel."

"Hmm?" I tugged at his hips. He was growing hard.

"I really like you."

"Good," I said. "I really like you."

He watched me as I unfastened his trousers, then pulled them off, along with his briefs. I began on his legs again. I liked the look of him with his T-shirt on top and nothing down below. He was fully erect now. I stopped stroking long enough to take off my own T-shirt. I tossed it to the ground and took in the sight of him, still leaning back on his arms, powerful and golden and male. He exuded a kind of animal magnetism, a sexual heat, that made my head spin with desire. I knew that when I finally kissed him, the tension would snap and we would be frantic for each other, so I made the quiet last. I moved from stroking his legs to kissing them, using my tongue as I moved closer and closer to his crotch. I nosed his testicles and licked up his shaft, then sucked him in. I heard him gasp, and his hips left the bed as he thrust up. I ran my mouth up and down just a few times before stopping.

I sat back, and as I pulled off my pajama bottoms, I admired his glistening penis and his half-closed eyes, which followed me as I finished stripping. I stroked myself a few times, and he followed every movement, his mouth a little open as his breathing quickened. I touched his chest next. I could feel power coiling inside. He was about to break—I was about to make him break. I wrapped my hands in the fabric and tugged. Abruptly, he shifted his weight forward and kissed me hard, his tongue pushing against my teeth.

I was right: we were frantic for each other. Now that the dam had been broken, we grabbed each other, twisted together, bucked against each other. Jonas pushed away long enough to strip off his T-shirt, and although he had looked glorious with it on, he looked even better with it off, because his skin was warm and touchable. He took my glasses off and half-tossed them onto the nightstand, and I didn't even look to see whether they made it safely. I wanted to touch him everywhere. His penis was burning hot, and when it stroked against mine, I gasped. I felt him move, and as he thrust against me, I began thrusting against him, and suddenly I was ready to come.

"Not yet," Jonas said. He put both hands on my head and looked into my eyes. I panted. "Daniel," he murmured, and he kissed me gently.

"Jonas," I said breathlessly, because I wanted him so much that I didn't feel like I could wait.

Jonas nudged me onto my stomach, and a moment later, he lay on top of my back, his body dense and heavy. His hands stroked up and down my arms. I could feel his penis pressing into the small of my back, hot and hard. His teeth nipped at the nape of my neck, and he began tasting me: his tongue swirled against my spine; his warm mouth teased my back. When he rubbed his cheek against my shoulder blade, I flashed back to the room where we'd worked, where I'd looked down at him and imagined touching him there, where I'd wanted him so badly that my breath had caught. The sensation of touching another person, of being loved, of being with someone desired—

I moved my hips against the mattress as lance of desire shot through me. My penis throbbed at the friction. Jonas pushed down harder to still me. "Not yet, Daniel," he crooned. He repositioned himself, and I felt him stroke up and down. I relaxed my ass. I tightened it a moment later when his erection was trapped between the cheeks of my ass. On the downward movement, the blunt tip pressed against my opening. It caught just inside when Jonas thrust up. Jonas dragged himself back down and did it all again, and again, biting and kissing my back. I tried again to rub myself against the mattress, but Jonas pushed harder as he rocked against me. I rubbed my cheek against the sheet instead as I squeezed my ass cheeks together, trying to keep Jonas there. The smooth fabric felt like burlap to my sensitized skin. My body wound tighter and tighter. I grunted when Jonas leaned hard into me and abruptly slid off.

"Ass up, Daniel," Jonas said hoarsely. He tugged at my waist, and I knelt back. "Like that."

I felt his mouth again, kissing my tailbone. His hands spread my ass cheeks. When his tongue flicked against my asshole, my penis jerked. I realized what he was going to do just as he did it: he delicately thrust his tongue inside me. I groaned and wrapped my hands in the sheets. My body was quivering. I didn't dare move for fear he'd stop. He curved his tongue and stroked inside me, kissing me more intimately than I'd ever imagined I could be kissed. I felt the warmth flash through my asshole, straight to my penis.

I was literally shaking. My hands fisted, and I tugged at the sheets as I offered my body up. His hands rotated my ass as he withdrew, and I felt him kiss me again, up to the base of my spine. I felt his breath against me as bit gently. His cheek trailed down the curve of my ass, and his tongue quested inside me again, pushing hard to get through the ring of my opening, caressing, and withdrawing. I felt wholly exposed. My balls tightened, and I grabbed the sheet as he thrust his tongue in and began moving rhythmically. I threw my head back, on the edge of release, my body singing with tension, my ass in the air, unmoving, trusting him to make me come. I could feel the force of his desire. I was growling. One of his hands came around as his tongue arrowed into me, hard now. He grabbed my penis and stroked it up and down.

His touch broke the dam inside me. I felt myself pulse, and a moment later, the pulses blended into pure ecstasy. I could sense the negation of self, when I became only mind, when I could almost remember why I had descended, when I could remember what I had been and what I was supposed to become. Knowledge, trust, and love permeated my soul. I was aware of nothing else. I felt as if all my nerve endings were shorting out. Jonas broke me apart. I felt as though I would die.

When Jonas released me, I collapsed forward, panting. I was sticky with sweat and my own seed. I felt wonderful—touched to satiety. I rolled into my back and watched Jonas, brown eyes dark with arousal, stroke himself. He was beautiful.

"Kiss me," I said.

Jonas got on all fours and crawled on top of me. His skin was sheened with moisture. I'd pulled the bed clothes off the bed, and underneath us, I could see the blue-and-white pattern of the mattress. Jonas's body fit perfectly over mine. He kissed me hard as I wrapped my hand around his penis. He began thrusting almost immediately. I put my other arm around him. Our tongues swirled together. Jonas's breathing grew labored. He broke the kiss and worked against me. I could feel the skin of his penis slide against the hardness underneath with every thrust into my hand. He pleasured himself against my body, rubbing his chest and legs against me. He put a hand atop mine and guided me, indicating he needed faster, harder stroking. I felt his hand clench, and his eyes unfocused as he came. He gasped, little exhalations of pleasure as he lost control. I felt the warmth of his semen against my stomach.

He melted on top of me, suddenly boneless. We rolled so we were on our sides. "Oh, Jonas," I said tenderly, stroking his sweat-soaked hair back. I held him close as he panted. I hadn't seen his face when he came last time. I hadn't seen the look of unadulterated joy on his face, as I had today. "You okay?" I asked a while later.

"Mmm," he murmured, pulling back a little so he could focus on my face. He looked heavy-lidded and sleepy. "Yes. Very okay. You?"

"Very okay," I told him.

We lay together as our breathing slowed, semen and sweat drying on our skin. When the prickle became uncomfortable, I rolled out of bed and wet a hand towel. I washed off Jonas first. I had to rub gently to free the semen from his body hair, and he let me do it. He lay back on the pillows, arms outflung, and watched as I cleaned him. He threw his head back when I touched his penis with the warm towel, and he stirred in my hand, becoming semierect. I admired the way he looked on the bed: he took up the whole space, but his nude body was compact against the tangle of sheets and pillows.

"Where do you go when you come?" I asked as I dabbed at him.

"I don't know. Nowhere, I guess." Jonas made a little noise, and I eased up. "Where do you go?"

"I think I go to wherever I was before," I said. I threw the towel on the floor and lay next to him. "When I come, I can almost remember. But if I remember, I think I'll die."

"It sounds terrible," he said.

"It's not," I reassured him. "You keep me here. And when I'm here, I can't die."

"How do I keep you here?"

"Because I want to stay with you." I leaned back against the pillows, drowsy. "I shatter and you put me together. I bring more back with me every time I visit. If you keep breaking me, then maybe I'll remember it all."

"Daniel Jackson, sometimes you don't make any sense." Jonas put his arms around me.

"I think you'd better stay the night," I said. I blinked at Jonas. He'd sat straight up. "What's wrong?"

"My fish. I have to feed my fish."

"Fish?"

"Don't you remember seeing my fish?"

I thought back to my visit to his room. I remembered books, but not fish. "No," I admitted.

"I feed my fish before I go to bed."

"Can't you skip it tonight?"

Jonas lay back down. "Actually, yes," he said. "That's why I have fish. Because you don't have to feed them all the time. So if I'm on a mission that lasts for a few days, they're fine." He kissed me. "But I should probably go in a while anyway. I shouldn't be here too long."

"Why?"

"Well, you have a guard outside, and he reports who's been in and out, and when."

"I didn't know he did that," I said. "Maybe we have a lot to talk about."

"I guess we do," Jonas said. "What time is it, anyway?"

I squinted at the clock on the nightstand, then pointed at it. "I can't see that far," I said.

Jonas looked over his shoulder. "It's one-thirty in the morning."

"See, a decent hour." I hesitated. "I don't mind if you stay. I don't mind what they think. But it's okay if you do. If you need to go."

"I'd like to stay, but I don't think I should." Jonas scrunched a pillow under his head. "It's not fair to you."

"Okay, now, stop it," I said, suddenly irritated.

"Stop what?"

"You keep trying to protect me."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It keeps getting in the way of what I want," I said bluntly. "I want to spend time with you. I want to sleep with you. And I think you want those things too."

"I do."

"Jonas." I took his hand. "When we make love, you're totally open and honest with me. You don't hold back. You make it so I can be those things too. I'm saying you're inconsistent. These other things you keep doing to save me from myself make you not honest. Please trust me."

"You're not yourself," he said hopelessly.

"Maybe I'm someone new," I said. "Would that be okay? If I wasn't Daniel Jackson but somebody new?"

Jonas untangled the top sheet and spread it over us. "It's you I want," he said. "Whoever you are." He spooned himself against me. "I'll stay another half hour or so. There are too many reasons for me to leave. My fish, for instance."

"They pine when you're not there," I said, tacitly telling him that I accepted his decision.

I felt the chuckle deep in his chest. "That's right," he said. "They pine."

## ***

  
"Colonel!" Samantha Carter waved at someone behind me. "It's the colonel," she said unnecessarily, pushing her plate away.

"Hey, all," Jack O'Neill said, coming to rest by the table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead," Jonas said, indicating the empty seat across from him.

"Ah yes. Another fine luncheon," Jack enthused, rubbing his hands together before putting his napkin in his lap. "Macaroni and cheese. And Jell-O." He eyed me across the table. "Do you remember Jell-O, Daniel?" he asked. "I believe it's unique in the universe."

"I do," I said. "I remember that I like the green best."

"So it's all flooding back?" Jack said.

"If you call food preferences 'flooding back,' I guess so," I said. "Do I like green best normally?"

Jack turned to Sam, eyebrows lifted in inquiry.

"Now that I think about it, I've seen him eat red Jell-O," Sam said.

"Maybe they didn't have green that day."

"They always have green."

"That's true."

They both looked at me in concern, and I laughed. "Maybe I like variety," I said. "I don't remember much. And the stuff I remember just kind of comes in pieces. Ask me again later."

"So, Jonas," Jack said, deliberately turning the subject. "How's the fake translation thingie going?"

Jonas, caught off-guard, hastily swallowed. "Well," he said. "We're almost done. We need to get the tablet incised and aged before we can put it on the planet's surface."

Jack speared cheese-drenched macaroni with a fork. "Well, it sounds like it was a lot of work. You two have certainly been spending a lot of time together these last few days. Hours on end in your office and elsewhere. Burning the midnight oil."

Sam, who had just taken a sip of water, started coughing. "No, I'm fine," she gasped when Jack tried to pat her on the back. "I'm good."

"That's true, Colonel," Jonas said. His leg pressed briefly against mine, but he didn't look sideways at me. "We have a lot to talk about. I'm really enjoying the opportunity to hear Dan—Dr. Jackson's take on some of the work I've done these last few months. There's some revolutionary stuff in his field notes, now that he can read them. We've been rethinking the very basis of some of our initial assumptions. Or at least, my assumptions."

"Well, yes, of course, you two have a lot in common," Jack said. "Quite a lot." He craned his neck. "Going so soon?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, grabbing her tray. "I see Teal'c over there and I need to—um—"

"I'll help you with that," Jonas said, abruptly rising. "With Teal'c. That thing."

Sam said, "Thanks," and the two of them fled.

"Okay, what just happened?" I asked after a minute of watching Jack, apparently unconcerned, eat his macaroni and cheese.

"They went to head Teal'c off," Jack said.

"Why would they do that?"

"So we could talk, I guess."

"Oh."

I watched Jack eat for a few more minutes. I was done, so I used my spoon to play with the remnants of the green Jell-O inside its parfait glass.

"Why?" I said when it became clear that Jack wasn't going to speak.

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know," I said cautiously. "Did you want to hear more about the composition?"

"Composition?"

"The fake tablet thingie."

"Oh. No." Jack pointed his fork at me. "See, you're not Daniel. Daniel would have told me all about it, in incredible, excruciating detail."

"But you don't seem all that interested."

Jack slapped the table. "Thank you. I'm not. Thanks for getting that."

"You're welcome."

"But I would like to know why Jonas has been spending so much time in your room. Until two or three in the morning the last couple days?"

"Translation?" I said hopefully.

Jack shook his head.

"Really, translation," I said, more firmly. "Jack, he's brilliant. He had a really interesting insight about a vowel shift that would explain a lot of things about the pronunciation of the daughter languages. It's a major breakthrough."

"I'm just suggesting that maybe Jonas should get to bed sooner, that's all. You know, so he can wake up fresh as a daisy, be the early bird that gets the worm, be a mossless stone. Rolling." He made a sliding gesture with one hand. "Rolling on home. Back to his own room. By maybe midnight."

"Jack, what are you implying?"

"Nothing," Jack said promptly. "Jonas is a good man. I like him beside me in a fight."

I stared at him in confusion. He clearly knew what was going on, but his demeanor puzzled me. Now I knew why Jonas insisted on leaving every night. Jack was essentially delivering a friendly warning—except he didn't seem very friendly. He was working hard at being cool, but underneath, he seemed upset.

I blinked as a fragment of memory clicked into place. "Don't ask, don't tell."

"Exactly." Jack started in on his green beans.

"I'm not in the military. Neither is Jonas."

Jack waved his arms, encompassing the room. "Hello! Welcome to your friendly high-security, top-secret military compound. Rules are posted at the door. If you don't follow them, be prepared to pay."

"I'll ask Jonas to—to curb his enthusiasm about the—the translations," I said. "I'm sure we could both use more sleep." I started to get up.

"About the—enthusiasm," Jack said. "There's enthusiasm?"

"Lots of enthusiasm," I said. "The translations are very, very interesting."

"Well, good," Jack said. "Enthusiasm is important, and translations even more so. And I want you to be happy. It's important to me that you be happy."

His eyes met mine, and I knew he was speaking on a deeper level. Something shifted in my subconscious, then submerged itself again, but I knew he meant it. He wanted me to be happy.

"Thanks," I said after a long pause. "Thanks, Jack."

"Hey, that's Jim to you," he called after me as I started away, and we grinned at each other.

## ***

  
"And see here?" I framed several of the glyphs into a cartouche. "What do you think?"

"I think this stuff will never come off." Jonas poked at the thick black line on his skin.

I pushed his hand away. "Let it dry. You'll smear it." I read the black text on the Sharpie. "It says washable," I said. "We'll just have to wash it off next. In the shower."

"Sounds nice." Jonas squinted down at his chest. "This one has no context." He touched his left nipple. "The eye of Ra?"

"I just thought it looked cool," I said. I kissed the nipple at the center of the eye. "I had this urge today to decorate you in words."

"And I see you gave into that urge."

"Well, we're done with the tablet, so your daily trips to the planet's surface to clear out leave me at loose ends." I delicately shaded one of the glyphs, then capped the pen and tossed it onto the nightstand. "And this whole leaving at midnight thing—I don't approve at all." We only had one more night after this one.

"About that."

"Mm-hm?"

"You never told me exactly what Jack said."

"Something about don't ask, don't tell, and rolling stones gathering no moss. It was pretty much all cliches." I sat up. "He did say he wanted me to be happy. I knew he meant that."

"How do you know he meant that?"

"I just do."

"He didn't—he didn't say anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"No, he just said to have you home at a decent hour." I rubbed my hand against the glyphs on his stomach, then checked my hand. It was clean. "I wasn't thinking. I should have drawn them really fast, then thrown myself on top of you."

"Why?"

"To transfer the images to my skin, but as a mirror image."

Jonas laughed. "So I speak forward but upside-down, and you speak backward."

"It makes sense. I'm speaking backward, trying to move forward. And yeah, everything's upside-down."

"I'm sorry." Jonas brushed my hair back. "So you're not remembering?"

"A little here, a little there. Green Jell-O kind of stuff." I leaned down and kissed him. "I'd remember more if you broke me apart again," I suggested.

"I can do that. But first I want to read myself."

I slid off his body. "Okay. I wrote about you. Except for Ra."

Jonas looked down. "They look different upside-down."

"I know you can handle it."

He touched each group of glyphs as he read it. "Honor. Courage. Scholar. Speaker—linguist, maybe? Or translator? Beloved. Ah, thank you. And this one. Distant? Does this one mean distant?"

"From far away," I clarified.

"Oh, but here's the Gate symbol for Earth."

"Well, you're here now."

I looked down at his stomach at the symbol for Earth and suddenly, I saw it not on Jonas's body but on a small computer screen. I had taken a pen—a Sharpie, or a pen that smelled like one—and written right on top of the computer screen, showing how the symbol was constructed. "Chevron seven," a voice in my head said. "Locked."

Chevron seven was the symbol on Jonas's stomach. Earth. Home. The point of origin.

"I found chevron seven," I said slowly. "I made the Gate work."

"You did," Jonas said. He touched his breast. "Tell me about Ra."

"Jack closed the eye of Ra. He killed him."

"What else?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, nothing else." I leaned over and fumbled around until I found the Sharpie. "Here." I threw myself back on the bed. "Write your Gate address on me. I want to memorize it. I want to memorize where you're from, even if you won't tell me about it."

Jonas began writing far on my right side, where the body hair was less dense. The tip of the pen felt cold and sharp. "Chevron one," he said as he drew it. "Two. Three. Four." He had to write small to make them fit in a line. "Five. Six. And—chevron seven is the point of origin." He put the pen on my right hipbone and drew a sharp point almost up to my sternum, then down the other side. He drew a circle at the top. I was a giant Earth, and next to me was the line of tiny characters that symbolized Jonas's home world. Suddenly there was a chasm between us. Suddenly he was so far away I couldn't see him. It was like stepping through the Gate: a single step, and you're no longer next to the person you'd been standing by. You're light-years away.

"Chevron seven. Locked," I whispered, and I shut my eyes to slow the dizzying whirl. I was locked—locked to this body, locked to this planet, locked to temporal existence, locked to people here, all in ways I couldn't fathom. I felt Jonas curl up next to me. Honor. Courage. Scholar. Speaker. Beloved. Foreigner. Home. Six units of meaning, six units specifying a place in time and space, plus chevron seven, the point of origin. Earth. My planet. "Oh, god," I said.

I covered my eyes with my hand. Jonas lay quietly next to me as I struggled for control. I wasn't remembering. I was suddenly, deeply aware of my temporality and my transience. "Why am I here?" I'd asked Jack. "Why are any of us here?" he'd responded, but now I knew he was right. It wasn't a flip answer. When my chest loosened, I turned and looked at Jonas. He looked worried.

"It's okay," I said. "I haven't remembered anything horrible. It's okay." I didn't know what to tell him—that I had suddenly experienced the angst, the anomie of existence? That I had suddenly become aware of my own humanity and temporality in an almost visceral way? That I'd come to my body at last?

Earth. I was from Earth. I had descended home.

And here was Jonas. I had been given a gift. He made me remember. He, a foreigner who anchored me to this time and place, was, ironically, ready to let me go should my memory make it imperative. I didn't want that. I wanted him beside me. I wanted him to shatter me like glass, over and over again. I wanted him there when I was reconstituted, so a part of him would be trapped inside me. I wanted him to wear tight black T-shirts to please me. I wanted him to make really bad puns in obscure languages. I wanted him to eat deep-friend food with me. I wanted him to draw designs on my body. I wanted his body against mine when I woke up in the morning.

"Why are you smiling?" Jonas asked. He traced my lips with a finger.

"You make me really happy," I said. "You make me really glad I came home."

I kissed him, and we wound together. Jonas's body under mine meant that I was alive. It meant I was home.

"Should we hop in the shower, see if we can get the glyphs off?" Jonas asked after a while.

"Okay," I said. "But it won't matter. They won't come off."

"I thought you said it was washable marker."

I put my hand over one of the glyphs that described him. "They're there forever," I said.


End file.
